Cake, Coffee, and Confession
by Butane Baby
Summary: Panchy Brief, the senior matriarch of the family, uses superior baking skills to lovingly dig beneath the surface of her son-in-law Vegeta's relationships with her and her late husband, and their daughter Bulma. (Fluff, feels, and a touch of lovemaking.)
1. Royalty's Cake

Panchy Brief hummed sweetly alongside a roaring mixing machine full of chocolate cake batter. A colorfully disordered mosaic of sprinkles and flour speckled her royal-blue muslin apron. This confectionery creation would be her third cake of the day, and likely her last.

Her impeccably dressed daughter Bulma entered, dropping her briefcase on the kitchen floor. Panchy's lips pursed with "I taught you better manners than that" disapproval.

"Bulma, dear, you bypassed several strategically placed accessory hooks. Perhaps you should revisit them. No reason to ruin an expensive bag like that on the floor."

"You know me better than that." Bulma elegantly galloped over to kiss her, reaching for Panchy's batter-covered spoon to lick it. "That is a cheap knock-off from a discount store Chi Chi and I visited last week. Now that it has your seal of approval, I'll get you one too."

Panchy whacked her daughter's impatient hand with the utensil, coating her palm with the gooey mess, which Bulma promptly lapped up like a three-year-old. Some things never changed. Both women smiled, admiring their playful inner spirits. Bulma had celebrated her fifty-fifth birthday a month earlier, in August, while Panchy had her seventy-fifth in April. The latter moved slightly slower after suffering a broken hip, but her best years certainly weren't anywhere close to ending. Modern medicine offered many gifts to humanity, and yet, being a practical sort, Bunny had no interest or desire in living forever.

She did, however, enjoy looking gorgeous as much as her two hard-working daughters. But her love and admiration centered on the substance of her children's lives. Bulma and Tights rejected the impotence that fear sometimes imposed on ambitious souls. Indeed, the Brief family's cleverness, diligence, and inventions had saved countless lives for decades. Her deceased husband trained their girls with calculated aplomb to make others' strengths and weaknesses work for them, in unique ways, as they solved problems together.

Panchy licked another spoon, replying, "I am perfectly happy with my burlap and cotton bags. I don't regret the day I stopped carrying briefcases. Helping your father impress investors with his ideas for Capsule Corp. had its rewards, obviously, but -"

"All right, mom," Bulma said uncomfortably. "I'll return later if this is another one of your thinly veiled hints about me working too much, because I don't want to argue."

"You don't have to argue," Panchy replied, wiping her hands. "You're thinking about it. Therefore, I planted the seed well. I am a phenomenal horticulturalist."

"No, mother, you are incorrigible."

"That too."

Bulma paraded around the kitchen's sawbuck-wood table to inspect her mom's handiwork: a lemon-raspberry layer cake and an Esterhazy torte. The latter - a mouthwatering collage of chocolate-hazelnut buttercream and sponge cake - was her absolute favorite.

"Please, _tell me_ this one is mine."

"The Esterhazy?" Panchy laughed at her daughter's persistence. "Not today."

Bulma's eyes narrowed. "OK, well, you know I love chocolate as much as sex, grandma Brief. So what about the one baking now?"

"I'm having that delivered to Bulla's campus dormitory. As for the sex, you'll just have to settle for that when Vegeta's around. Also, the lemon cake is for -"

"Trunks, of course," Bulma said dryly. "I figured that out - as if either of my kids need more spoiling from you. So back to your delectable masterpiece. If it's not for me, then what lucky person gets murdered by me for it?"

Panchy's observant eyes took stock of the atmosphere outside from a kitchen window. "Bulma, love, follow me out back."

"Mom, what are you up to?"

Panchy clucked her tongue. "Gods, you are just like your father sometimes." She tenderly grasped Bulma's hand, leading her to the estate's exquisitely manicured gardens. "Be patient with this old lady."

Charmed by her mother's Zen-like serenity, Bulma obeyed. Panchy's earnest wisdom and upbeat demeanor offered lifelong lessons. Her daughter felt beyond lucky to have her. Bulma removed her dress jacket and put on her shades to reduce the glare. Crickets blared their anticipation for sunset's advance.

The women paced through a low-level rock labyrinth to chat. Panchy trekked through the grass with a medium-size wooden walking stick, carefully contemplating what she would say next.

On the far end of the estate stood a stately, open-air pavilion built across a large pond flanked by trees bearing heart-shaped leaves of green and gold. A man sat on a side rail with his back to them, appearing lost in thought.

Panchy nodded in his direction. Bulma shrugged her shoulders, raising her arms on both sides. Her mother doubted the woman's apparent confusion.

"What, mom?"

"He's been there all day, Bulma."

Bulma glanced at her husband again. "Why is this an issue?"

"All day, darling? You don't find that strange?"

"First of all, you know Vegeta probably senses that we're all the way over here."

"Are you deliberately being thickheaded?" Panchy asked, observing her daughter's twitching eyelids. "Of course I know that. From the looks of him, though, he doesn't appear interested in eavesdropping. Now then, answer the question."

Bulma groaned, searching for another way out of this discussion. "I can't believe I'm almost sixty-years-old and feel like a teenager being ordered around."

"Then stop acting like the woman who spent two days giving birth to you is an idiot," Panchy said, appearing displeased. "Are you two having problems?"

Bulma sighed, removing her sunglasses. "Look, we aren't having problems. _He is._ It's been like this for weeks, really, but you know Vegeta. Until he's ready to share, I can't do much. Maybe it's not my place to do anything. But I believe in him. He would never desert me emotionally. Never again. All I can do is remind him how much I love him."

"You are a wonderful wife, you know," Panchy said, holding her hand.

Bulma laughed. "Oh yes, I know that. So I assume that Esterhazy torte is for my husband?"

Panchy traced jagged lines on the ground with her staff, weighing her next steps. "Do me a favor and make yourself scarce this evening, kid."

"What are you talking about?" Now Bulma had to put her foot down with this strange demand. "I'm not going_ anywhere_. I have been on my feet all day, and I'm starving."

"And you're rich," Panchy replied, "and it's Friday. Go spend money and treat yourself. It will get your mind off the Saiyan, because I know you're more worried than what you're telling me. You will never win at blank-faced, defensive reticence over him."

"And what makes you believe you'll crack his armor today?"

"Because I believe I know what the problem is. I also have been a constant source of confusion for Vegeta since we met."

Bulma glanced over her mother's head, noticing Vegeta's stealth departure. Panchy's guess about his disinterest in their chatting was likely true, but he rarely chose not to greet them from afar while flying. Sometimes he gracefully twirled overhead, flirting and showing off for Bulma's enjoyment, before parting diaphanous clouds with his exit.

"You're not as confusing anymore, I think, little lady. He knows you're an elaborate con artist and borderline crook. He caters to you when_ he feels_ like it - simple as that."

Panchy's eyes widened, faking astonishment. "So you mean he finally forgave me for shamelessly flirting when he first arrived on Earth, before you captured his attention?"

"Um, no." Bulma wrinkled her nose, chuckling. "He's an OK guy these days, and I'm quite fond of him, but we know Vegeta doesn't do gracious mercy well. However, I trust that you'll babysit the love of my life with care tonight. But, can you do me one teeny favor?"

Flashing a devilishly toothy smile, Panchy shuffled past her daughter. "Bulma, dear, I will leave a slice of the torte just for you. I assume Vegeta won't be offended seeing one-sixteenth of his cake missing, but understand that _you get all blame_ if he is."

Bulma kicked at the dirt. "Mom, I said 'teeny,' not 'barely visible crumb.' Not fair!"

"Please behave like the almost sixty-year-old woman that you are," Panchy replied. She had further plotting to do. "Hurry up now. Don't dawdle."

"I'm fifty-five," Bulma muttered as she sullenly plodded alongside her. "Don't put extra years on me, you heartless battleaxe."

Panchy winked as they lovingly locked palms. "Sticks and stones, kid."

Vegeta arrived at the main house for a pre-bedtime snack shortly after 10 p.m. He had been content eating dinner alone earlier, away from the residence, after Bulma surprised him with plans "to have a little fun with the girls." He accepted his wife's effervescent whimsy long ago, a satisfying byproduct of their love, and trusted her judgment - mostly.

Whoever in the hell these "girls" were, Vegeta didn't care to know - although he actually preferred seeing Bulma spend time with Launch, her weirdo pistol-carrying buddy, rather than her friend Krillin's wife, Eighteen. Fully forgiving "that blonde-haired harridan" - as Vegeta now called her - for shattering his arms, dislocating both shoulders, and worst, spitting on his semiconscious body when they were younger still stung his ego. No fighter he met had ever disrespected him during battle like that, drenching his body with saliva, despite justifiable fury and rank contempt for everything he represented back then.

But of all mortals, the Saiyan prince had little room to judge. People…change.

"Yeah, yeah," he grunted as he approached the kitchen. "I know. I still dislike her. Decent fighter, though. Maybe in some ways we're just too much alike, as my wife says, but I'm much nicer. That's what being killed more than once does, I guess."

He had more important concerns anyway. What would satisfy his nascent craving? He didn't need a nibble, really, but being out of sorts all day offered a suitable reason to. Bulma had not asked about his behavior at the pavilion earlier. He felt somewhat guilty withholding explanation about his recent demeanor, but he had to deal with his troubles alone.

"She doesn't need that burden," he mumbled to himself. "She seems to be doing well."

Their kitchen smelled glorious. His mother-in-law had taken over, clearly, blessing their home with her culinary genius. He didn't eat sweets much, but Panchy's imaginative desserts often broke his willpower like an eggshell. A single overhead light illumined a crystal cake stand on a counter. The chocolate-drenched torte sitting on top had a thin piece missing from its otherwise pristine form.

Vegeta blinked once.

"_Esterhazy_. Damn that conniving woman. What does she want now?"

* * *

**Hi there! Hope you're enjoying this mini. ****(I'm keeping this one short.)**** All I can say is Panchy came to me in a vision while eating cake. Just kidding. 😄 Please take a moment to leave a comment. I look forward to hearing from you.**


	2. Neglected

**Recap: Vegeta is walking into the trap Panchy set with his eyes wide open, because she likely has a lot on her mind.**

* * *

Panchy's Shopping List:

Esterhazy torte: egg whites, granulated sugar, finely ground peeled hazelnuts, vanilla extract, meringue buttercream, apricot glaze, poured fondant, melted dark chocolate, slivered almonds

"Enhanced café": Cognac, hot French press coffee, whipped cream, a bit of sugar and grated chocolate

Price of two hand-rolled cigars cured in Cognac: 161,000 Zeni

* * *

Vegeta's servant robot silently rolled next to the counter. The no-frills machine was about half his height, lacking highly animated facial features. Bulma teased her husband ruthlessly about his handpicked design. He brushed off her ribbing, calling himself "a man with simple tastes."

Yeah, well, the Saiyan prince had been that way after his horrific fight with Frieza, and later resurrected on Earth as a homeless vagabond in a battered fighter suit. Other intergalactic rations included a volatile blend of pride, insecurity, obsessive determination, and loneliness - flavored liberally with resentment. Thankfully, he had largely shaken off any concerns about "becoming soft" ages ago. Given his fighting acumen and fierce dedication to improvement, that would never be a problem ever again. Ensuring his family's protection pushed him to greater heights, as well.

Thus, luxury didn't have any downside and wasn't limited to material possessions. Vegeta had more than a good life: He had a stellar one. He pondered these truisms while cutting slices of the torte, quietly arranging two large pieces on china plates Panchy set aside.

"Sir?"

Vegeta opened a drawer to retrieve napkins, barely acknowledging the assistant. "What?"

"I was programmed to give you this coffee beverage now."

Vegeta didn't need a close whiff to recognize it had enough booze added to set a waterlogged houseplant on fire. "That can wait until I'm done here. Keep it warm."

"Yes, sir." The robot retracted its arm, placing the steaming mug within its storage chamber. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"What does it look like to you? I thought you were smart."

"I am not programmed to be a mind reader, sir. Your wife might be able to assist with that function."

"But you _are_ programmed to be a smart ass, apparently," Vegeta replied, frowning. His mother-in-law had entered the danger zone, tampering with his robot like that. "I need the adjustable tray."

Panchy left no stone unturned, offering service fit for a monarch, but like her daughter she couldn't resist jabbing at Vegeta's ingrained curmudgeon. She called it "tenderizer." He probably would have changed five colors from fury having anyone liken him to a slab of meat in need of an acid bath to become palatable - however accurate the description was in his youth. Nevertheless, Vegeta believed he had solid reasons for that.

_This better be good_, he thought, following the robot unhurriedly to the balcony patio.

Having his family conspire against him had become commonplace. Over the years he grew more amused by their elaborate plots to convince him into certain activities. True, he drew fixed lines about his participation in many events, but he also secretly enjoyed watching them declare "victory" when he already planned to join in before being asked. He still had a reputation to uphold.

_She must be dozing. That's what it is._

Humans with no special talents or paranormal powers had low ki. Vegeta took great pains to differentiate between family members without these abilities, memorizing their ki signatures up close by touching them. Everyone had a fighting chance for being rescued if technology failed during emergencies. Large crowds still posed difficulties for accurate detection but at least they had something, including telepathy. Vegeta could find Bulma almost anywhere, though, benefiting from a blood ritual they shared as life partners.

His eyes revealed an almost fatherly annoyance as well as entertainment from seeing Panchy on the patio. _The nerve of this woman. Seeking out my attention like this - and then she falls asleep. She and Bulma definitely have that in common._

His mother-in-law stretched her legs, yawning. A blanket covered them on an extended patio chair. The robot handed her a plate of the torte, waiting for Vegeta to take his.

"Where's my coffee?" Perturbed, Panchy touched the machine's control pad.

"You can have mine, Mrs. Brief."

"But I don't want _yours_," she complained. "I want _mine_."

"Not happening," Vegeta said, taking a bite of cake. "Your drink has enough alcohol to supply ten city pubs, and you rarely stop at one. If I ever want to sleep with my wife again - happily - this is what I must do. I also locked my robot's keypad. Get your own toy."

"Aren't you going to sit down?"

"I'd rather stand."

"That's bad for digestion, son."

"Saiyans usually don't have those problems, remember?"

"For goodness sake!" Bunny exclaimed, laughing. "Stop being unnecessarily truculent. You won't have me around for six months after next week."

"Yes, to be precise." Without smiling, Vegeta slid another forkful of cake between his crumb-covered lips. "This is quite delicious, by the way, and perhaps one of your best. So what do you _want_? It must be significant since you kept Bulma from devouring the torte."

"Thank you would be a great start, kid."

Vegeta took a swig of his soused coffee before handing it to her. "Thank you. I'm going to bed now. You should consider it too, given the way I found you here."

"Prince Vegeta, I said thank you would be _a great start_. You've been alone all day. So have I. Keep me company for a while. That's all I want."

Vegeta's eyes lost their subdued mirth, returning to the plaintive state Panchy witnessed earlier. "You… don't have to use that honorific."

Noticing the subtle change in expression, Panchy set her plate down. She considered Vegeta as much a son as a mother of two daughters would. She would never hurt him.

"Why?" Her lips quivered. He didn't seem angry, but she had to be sure. "This is the first time since I've known you. I figured you needed a pick-me-up. Besides, you have never called me anything other than Mrs. Brief in all these years."

_For as long as she's known me, she says._ Somehow Panchy successfully roped him into a deeper talk that he didn't desire, at least right then. However, the worry in her giant baby-blue eyes sealed his fate. Leaving Bulma's mother upset and alone was a nonstarter if he _ever_ wanted to sleep his own bedroom again.

He recognized how a perpetually optimistic person like Panchy could innocently overlook nuances. Even his wife didn't share that trait with her. Despite her upbeat nature, Bulma understood his cynicism and hard edges in ways others never would. She had her own. But everyone was right: Panchy's core personality had confused Vegeta after they met, much like Son Goku's did. But the woman wasn't guileless, unlike his Saiyan rival and friend. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been so skilled at convincing others in their orbit that they were doing themselves favors by doing her favors.

Noticing his mother-in-law's tightened grasp on her blankets, Vegeta glanced at the outdoor thermostat. He unfolded a chair to sit after turning on fire lamp behind them. "For most of my life, those who've used the title did so to mock me, usually before trying to severely wound, knock me unconscious, torture, or kill," he replied, facing her. "It is a vestige of my Saiyan heritage, and I am not ashamed to proclaim that when confronting challenges - as everyone knows - but that's where it stops. If no other Saiyan on Earth uses the title, then why would you? I am not your sovereign, nor will I ever be anyone else's officially. I take this seriously."

Panchy sighed, sipping more coffee. "I wasn't trying to mock you, son."

Vegeta had become the man in others' lives they believed he could be. Panchy was one of his most enthusiastic supporters, because she threw one-hundred percent of herself into everything. And for that reason, he couldn't be angry with her long about anything.

But there was no way in hell she or anyone else needed that information.

"I know," he replied, taking her plate. "You… never have. I don't use your first name because you are my wife's mother. That is out of respect. This is your home, one you invited me into openly. And if you recall, I never used your husband's first name either."

"It's not like you're a tenant who hasn't paid his rent, Vegeta. You've raised two wonderful children with my daughter, bringing much happiness into our lives."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Panchy beckoned him to move closer. "And from now on, call me Kate."

"Kate?" Vegeta cocked his head, not knowing what to think about this latest revelation.

"Yes," she whispered. "That's my middle name. I am not that fond of the first."

Vegeta smirked, staring at the sky. "OK…_Panchy_."

The kindhearted woman offered a serene, reflective smile to her puckish son-in-law, patting his knee until her pleasant expression melted.

"Vegeta..."

"Yes?"

"I... I had Bulma's sister out of wedlock too. Or, rather, I almost _didn't_ have her."

Vegeta paused to consider the news further, and to observe Panchy closer. "So I take it neither sister is aware of that last part then."

She nodded slowly, preparing for his disapproval. "No."

"Bulma and I certainly have _no room_ to judge, considering how we ended up with our accidental son. You were younger when you conceived than I would want my daughter to be, but there's nothing inherently shameful about anything that happened to you. Even if you had chosen not to carry the pregnancy, that would have been your choice."

"Yes, you're right." Panchy nodded tiredly at the small tobacco humidor on the table near them. "But for women on this planet, even now, we get punished emotionally and countless other ways when we end up in these situations, while the guys don't as much."

"Or at all," Vegeta said. "Saiyan society, while deeply flawed, looked unfavorably on harsh shaming of women over procreation. We simply offered every progressive option to change and control how and when it happened."

Panchy's hands gripped the glass mug tighter, recalling Bulma's stories about the large incubators Saiyan babies were bred in. "Well, all of that aside, until now you did not know that Tights isn't my late husband's biological daughter."

"Gods." Vegeta took the cup to finish her coffee. "So she doesn't know that either?"

He didn't quite understand why his mother-in-law had chosen him for these confessions, but he continued to oblige her. He had all but forgotten the melancholy plaguing him earlier, though, as they continued talking.

Panchy looked away. "We never wanted her to feel unwanted in any way. The girls are only two years apart, after all. Anyhow, make yourself comfortable and light your cigar first. That's what my husband always insisted when you secretly smoked together, right?"

Vegeta calmly took stock of her condition, noticing further glassiness in her downcast eyes. This mood shift came on fast, which disturbed him.

Then, he finally understood.

Grieving, at every stage, is fertile breeding ground for guilt and all manner of confessions - whether necessary or unnecessary. Panchy's disjointed story arc now pointed in a clear direction.

"Kate, it is all right," he said with the gentlest tone possible from within his gravelly voice. "_It's all right._ You don't have to -"

"Please just listen to me a little longer," Panchy said breathlessly, clasping her hands. "I took it extremely hard when my father-in-law passed away too, hon. Just broke my heart, it did. He was more of a father to me than my own. I lost a wonderful mentor for parenthood in him, like you had with my husband. It was bound to affect you sometime. That's why I wanted you to spend time with me. You've been so...so... strong. You've been there for all of us this past year, quietly caring for our entire family in numerous ways. I'm so sorry we neglected you, son. I'm sorry that I neglected you."

Vegeta couldn't muster much to say as Panchy cried in front of him. She voiced much of what he thought, although he had not felt neglected by anyone. The loss of a great man tapped into a deeper pain from an earlier loss, but Dr. Brief wasn't his father: He was Bulma and Tights' brilliant papa, Trunks and Bulla's eccentric granddad, and Panchy's cherished husband.

"That is what I'm _supposed_ to do," he replied, eyes settling on the vast darkness around them. "I owe him that - and you - more than you'll ever know, without protest."

* * *

**Let me know what you think! Your enthusiastic comments on the first chapter got me thinking in a million directions. Very, very appreciative for that. ❤️Thanks again for sharing them.**


	3. An Earnest Man

Bulma's expected busier conditions at home. The kids might have stopped by, her mother might be cooking again, or Vegeta might want to hike together.

_Maybe whatever mom did cheered him up. I wouldn't mind getting him out on a walk with me. _Vegeta could be an excellent listener. Now, the spouses almost always asked if they wanted each other's opinions during their talks. Bickering from their younger days hadn't disappeared completely, though. Back then, volatility, danger, stubbornness, motivation, and high emotion drove their interactions like competing racecars.

Falling deeply in love and having almost it slip through their fingers ended the race. Their current bickering stemmed from wanting the absolute best for each other.

Stillness greeted Bulma's entrance. She dropped her overnight bag next to the front door, removing her sunglasses. A floor mirror in the hallway near the kitchen soon captured her attention, as it usually did. She fluffed her hair, checking the left and right sides for evenness. Maybe it was time for another haircut.

"Mom! Hey, mom!"

"You're going to wake the dead. Pipe down."

Bulma's watched flashed, seeking her approval to project Panchy's image onscreen. She didn't accept the summoning, choosing audio only.

"We have dragon balls to fix that. You're not coming to greet me?"

"Very funny. No, I'm not coming since you didn't put me on video. Also pick up that bag Bulma. I heard it hit the floor."

"Where are you? I know you aren't in the kitchen."

"I'm not that far, clearly. Figure it out."

Bulma laughed. "Oh my god, mother! Did you and Vegeta have a mind merge last night? From now on, you both must be supervised by adults during playtime."

Panchy left the family room, raising fingers over her lips. "Didn't I say keep it down?"

"Why? Is there something wrong?"

"Vegeta is sleeping upstairs."

Bulma felt a pang of worry. Asleep at 1 p.m.? So what does that mean, mom? Napping? Is he not feeling well?"

"No, kid. We were up late, until about 3 a.m."

"OK, mom. What in the world is happening here? You're all bright-eyed, but my husband is knocked out in the middle of the day?"

Panchy held her arm, leading her toward the kitchen. "Darling, he had a lot weighing him down. We lifted the mask a bit while you were out, which means he can rest well again."

Bulma wanted to feel better after hearing Panchy's news, but as a wife she felt uncomfortable. Her husband had been sleeping almost ten hours, and possibly could for several more until she investigated.

"It's time for him to get up, mom. What you're saying sounds to me like he really isn't feeling well - like he's depressed. I'm going to check on him."

"Sweetie, look, you said as much yesterday. Vegeta didn't define it that way, but in any case, he helped me feel better too."

"About what, though?"

"We chatted about your dad."

Bulma pinched the bridge of her nose. "Are you sure you're fine, mom?"

"Yes, darling - yes. Go see your husband. He'll talk with you."

Bulma removed her heels, carrying them by her fingertips upstairs. Her hosiery had hideous rips on both sides, so she didn't care about protecting them any longer. She stopped briefly to admire a collage of family photos near the master bedroom. One picture showed Dr. Brief happily carrying her on his shoulders in front of their estate's menagerie. She had been a tiny girl with big, bushy hair, much like her daughter Bulla.

Being a great photographer, Bulma also collected pictures of Vegeta carrying or flying their kids on his back at different stages of their maturation. He often appeared more serious than Dr. Brief, as usual, calling his actions "necessary lessons on geographical navigation." But everyone knew he enjoyed these moments as much as the children.

Bulma smiled, kissing her fingers before touching her favorite photos. She gingerly opened her bedroom door expecting a pitch-black interior. Instead, the blinds covering the entrance to the room's spacious enclosed balcony had been partially opened, inviting horizontal sunbeams inside. The bed was neatly made: a product of Vegeta's handiwork. Bulma observed the sheets' tightness around the edges, the duvet's precise folding, and the pillows' picture-perfect asymmetry.

"Damn, he's so good at that," she said jealously. "Showoff."

"There's still time to learn." Vegeta hummed as his arms enveloped Bulma's waist from behind. "A person who can design space stations in her sleep can make a bed properly."

Relieved, Bulma leaned into his warm, welcoming embrace. His bare chest and arms felt refreshingly moist. His washed hair smelled of almonds and orange peel.

"So you're saying I choose not to," she replied, stroking the emerging bulge underneath his damp bath towel. His barely audible gasp betrayed his naughty thoughts. "Maybe because my obsessively neat lover and I mess them up too much to care anymore."

Vegeta lifted Bulma over his shoulder, throwing her shoes aside. His right hand already had her panties lowered before she could resist his advance with full force. Lively fingers applied pressure underneath, further relaxing her mind.

The prince let his towel drop, revealing his body's roadmap to their next sensual destination. "Bed, balcony, closet, or floor?"

"Does it matter?" Bulma asked, sounding drunk. "Wherever suits you. Just… carry on."

She awakened later to Vegeta's soft kisses on her shoulder and neck. She turned over, touching his face. Vulnerable eyes lingered on her curious ones until they kissed again. Vegeta held his wife closer, counting seconds between her birdlike heartbeats.

"How are you feeling, handsome? I've tried to give you space, but-"

"I'm sorry I worried you."

Bulma nodded. "All right. What else?"

"Have you been angry?"

Bulma fingered through his hair, savoring its enticing scent. "Vegeta, we've been together long enough where you'd know that by now. Besides, after making love _like that_ just now, it would be difficult to stay pissed off anyway."

"Yeah," he replied, resting his head on her chest.

"Can you tell me what's going on now? Mom said you had a festive time last night."

"Your mother may be a swindler, but she doesn't lie," Vegeta said, smirking. "Stop putting falsehoods in her mouth. We had an _interesting_ discussion."

Bulma laughed, kissing the tip of his nose. "Regardless, I'm glad you could talk with her. It's hard not to, with those food tricks of hers. She's been a trooper since papa died. Sixty-five years of friendship. Fifty-five years of marriage. Just amazing those two were."

"How… are you?" Vegeta hesitated, wondering if this was the right time to share, as Panchy encouraged him to do. "You haven't spoken much about him to me lately."

Bulma's sharp mind focused on this question. Vegeta had sheltered her heart and mind from grief's debilitating extremes. Dr. Brief hadn't died from an old-age-related ailment. He had virtuosic plans on top of plans for future projects, excitedly sharing them with his rapt daughters. Unfortunately one backfired, exposing him to a hazardous compound that gradually sickened him. His body had lost all neuromotor function within two years.

Capsule Corporation provided every experimental tool for Dr. Brief convalescence before his death, but in the end, keeping him comfortable was all they could do. He told everyone to stop trying to evince a swift scientific miracle - especially his girls, who desperately pushed the company's neuroscientists and bioengineers for favorable results.

Vegeta found his wife one night working within a spaceship's intertank, sobbing and exhausted. Her hands toiled furiously on a phalanx of wiring and electrodes. He lowered himself into the massive structure carrying bright pink water bottles strapped to his waist. One had "BADWOMAN" emblazoned on the front, which he handed to her. His had "BADMAN" on it, of course. He tilted his head, patiently waiting for Bulma's foreseeable shoulder smack and appreciative kiss, which she promptly delivered. He winked before climbing out, assured she could continue working calmly. Neither liked anyone forcing them to abandon their work while upset. Receiving empathetic encouragement to refocus their efforts, as he did then, made them both feel understood and loved.

"I'm fine," Bulma replied, caressing his chest. "Having you by my side during papa's illness gave me strength."

"You always have been strong."

"So have you, Vegeta. When I think of the sum of your life, it astounds me every time."

"You know I see strength differently now, Bulma."

"Of course I do. I am so proud of that, too, as much as I know you are."

Vegeta left the bed to get their robes and slippers. "So... was… your father. He told me."

"Did he?" Bulma sensed her husband's uncertainty, realizing now that he didn't want to upset her. That never had been a concern. "What else did he say?"

"He said he hoped his and Panchy's care over the years helped me feel like less of an orphan."

Stunned, Bulma covered her lips. Her father finally broached talk of events before King Vegeta's death, successfully traversing over sacred ground. She admired him even more. Even while deteriorating, her father gave selflessly. He also loved a good challenge.

Vegeta returned to the bedside, guessing her thoughts. "You don't reject an earnest man's request to speak before dying, no matter how uncomfortable it feels," he continued. "No one with honor has ever denied it to me. I would not deny it to your father. I only wish… I could have done more for him and you."

"Oh honey," Bulma moved beside him, taking his hand. "I'm sure he appreciated what you could give at that moment. If there was anyone who knew how hard it is for you to be vulnerable, it was my papa. He didn't need to know all of our secrets. You were another adopted son he welcomed into his life. His father was just like him."

"Dr. Brief said he felt _joy_ knowing he contributed to our legacy. Bulma, in all my life I have never had any man speak to me like that. Joy? _Over me?_ That's insane. Even now with all of my accomplishments, my own father would likely be disappointed in me."

"You have been spared knowing about that part for sure, at least." Bulma said, her eyes filling with tears. "Regarding the insanity, yes, papa _was _insane - just like your wife."

"Hn," Vegeta snorted, kissing her eyelids. "That's for sure. Your mother too, and our useless children."

Bulma led him to the balcony to watch sunset. Ducks glided in a V-shape line across the autumn horizon, enhancing the picturesque view with their gleaming feathering.

"I want you to promise me something. Vegeta. Don't hide this kind of hurt and confusion you're feeling now from me ever again. You have told me about the roughest traumas many people couldn't stomach hearing without passing out, and I haven't run from you yet."

"I didn't want to make what you went through about me. You needed to focus on your own pain. It was my duty to -"

"To do what you're doing now," Bulma said, cupping his face between her hands. Vegeta's face flushed, both from self-consciousness and enduring desire for his life partner.

"I -"

"Love me?" Bulma chirped enthusiastically. "What is there not to love?"

"You don't want me to answer that," Vegeta said, laughing as he returned inside. "You really don't. Not for our marriage."

"The nerve!" Bulma shouted, kicking off both slippers. "You've never been a walk in the fucking park either, buddy."

Vegeta stopped without turning around, sensing her next move. "Don't even think about it throwing those, woman."

With a finger snap, both shoes landed in his hands. Bulma charged at him like an excited bull, jumping at full speed to land in his rock-solid arms. He swiftly whirled, catching her like a prized football. Then he gently laid her on their bed as if she were antique porcelain.

His right eyebrow arched. "I see that treadmill you put in your office is helping. What in the hell kind of vitamins are you taking these days?"

"Sexy Super Saiyan complex." Bulma yanked at Vegeta's robe, inviting his hungry lips to join hers. "Puts… hair on…on one's chest," she gasped as he entered her body.

Laughing, Vegeta propped his arm next to Bulma's sweaty forehead, thrusting her rhythmically into ecstatic moans. "I sure as…as..as hell hope not," he panted. "Earth has seen more than...than its fair share of Oozaru."

Panchy puttered around before leaving food for her son-in-law and daughter in the kitchen's coffin-sized warmer. She hadn't expected to see them for hours after Bulma arrived, and she couldn't be happier. She smiled, fondly remembering her constant excitement seeing her husband after long work days.

Talking with Vegeta also left her with much to consider. She retrieved her white helmet and royal-blue leather jacket, twirling the prince's motorcycle key chain. Another revealing conversation was in order, because she had to start somewhere.

"Hello? Tights? It's mom. I'm well, dear. You have time for dinner? In an hour? That's wonderful. I'm riding on _Pride_ tonight. Vegeta won't mind if I borrow it. _Yes_, _darling_. I promise you he won't. Also, I'm bringing a piece of Esterhazy for you. See you soon. I love you."

* * *

**END - Thank you so much for supporting my work, as always, and for leaving comments. **


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